Winter's Thaw
by Bucky LaFontaine
Summary: Jarod and Miss Parker attempt a life together after the fall of the Centre


A response to a mix of the challenges posted on the Missing Pieces site. I am going to just post it as a story to be safe.

This is a moment-in-time piece. My first fan fiction written as a tribute and thank you to what has become, in my opinion, one of the best series on television. This is for the 10th year anniversary. Be glad it is not handwritten as my 10-year-old niece has informed me, "My 6 year old sister writes better than you." Out of the mouth of babes.

Of course I don't own them or they would still be

entertaining us.

I would like to thank Nightowl and Ginger for their support and Nightowl's story idea.

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Winter's Thaw

It had taken time, a lot of time, a lot of effort and planning to finally get her to admit her feelings. I didn't sim her, I didn't need to; if you know a person as well as I know her, it is a matter of much of how she reacts and the period of time it takes her to react to understand the debates she holds within herself. I know her. I know the pain and the hesitation, the desire and the fear that holds her soul in chains. I know I can cut through that mess.

The utter chaos her so called family has sold her

into, lock stock and barrel. They have paid for their madness and cruelty, not nearly enough, not what I would have demanded from them. They would have been hung naked in the town square with the list of their crimes listed upon their chest, or ass. Some how ass seems more appropriate. I enjoy the public humiliation of criminals, and their crimes could not be contained on their genitals. It's the thought that counts, since the government took control and I have no possible way of exacting my judgment on them, something THEY would understand, I will have to be satisfied that they will never see the freedom they so happily denied so many for so long.

She is a much different story. I never knew just how deeply the emotional abuse she suffered ran. Not until this past month, even then I didn't fully understand. We have always had a bond, complicated as it was it - was strong enough to withstand years of lies, contorted beliefs, and manipulations.

I knew the bond was growing for me; the attraction to her was nearly overwhelming on many levels. The times I had to back away when I wanted to hold her, the times I had to watch from afar to see her pick herself back up and grow ever stronger. The times when she nearly didn't pick herself back up, I waited and watched--and hoped.

You see, as much as I knew her, I didn't know her. I knew her better than anyone else, and yet there were times I couldn't be sure of her intentions. I either just wasn't paying attention, or as she would later tell me I was too busy watching planets revolve around me. She always had a way with words, in hindsight I could see a touch of truth in her words. I loved the wit she could sting me with--most of the time I loved it, when the sting wasn't blinding.

Her wounds were to become evident in a way I never

expected-never thought ahead to, a moment of such

confusion that I nearly struck out nearly lost her from my life. It was the night we finally found

Ourselves intimately wrapped in each other's arms,

each wrapped in the cocoon of passion soon to become bliss. I was so nearly blind with want, need and desire that I missed any warning sign. We were about to be bound body and soul, committed completely to the senses and emotions when just at the worst possible moment she became still, unmoving. We had been teasing each other, playing with each other's ability to withstand sensory overload. I stupidly took this as more of the game, and continued my advancement toward the final goal of joining our souls. When she snapped.

To say I was unprepared for the onslaught would be an understatement. Her fist caught me on the cheekbone, directly below my right eye. My first reaction was anger. She was playing me. I could barely see so at the time I missed the look on her face of total fear and withdrawal. I held her arms down and in anger said things I could not ever imagine myself saying to her, to anyone that I was so physically and emotionally lost in. I watched as her defenses flew into action. She kicked and pushed me off, not hard when you are literally caught with your pants down and in pain. I could barely see out of either eye for my left eye was

tearing in sympathy with the injured right eye.

When my vision cleared she was gone. I could hear her in the bathroom retching or sobbing. In truth I'm not sure it wasn't both. I stood outside the bathroom door, I tried to hide the hurt and the pain. I pleaded "Please talk to me, I don't understand. What did I do?"

"Nothing. Go away Jarod." I stood there until the chill of the room bothered me enough to find my clothes, then walked to the window and watched the moon touch the snow and light the area around the cottage. Who could I talk to-to gain some understanding, because I clearly didn't understand. Not for a minute. She wanted this intimacy as much as I did. I found my coat and boots to go walk and try to think this through.

I didn't realize how long I was gone. In fact, I considered not going back at all, but I had to know.

The gray of the morning light was filtering through the barren trees as I made my way back to the cottage. I kicked off the snow on the steep side of the steps going up to the porch. At the top of the porch I looked around, seeing the wood stacked in the corner I wondered why she had kept this place that held so many bad memories, horrific memories of loss and pain.

I debated going in. What should I say, how to begin to say anything to her? In my heart I knew I loved her, and I thought she had deep feelings for me. No, I knew she had feelings for me. She doesn't pretend feelings. She may hide them but I know she doesn't fake them, not like that. I know my technique was working; she was as close as I was to bliss, or at least finding it. She was actively involved in our love making, until that last minute.

I heard the door unlock as I stood on the porch considering what to say or do. The door didn't open, but she had made the first step. I needed to walk through the door and make the first move in unraveling this. I kicked off my boots at the door and opened it holding my breath, not knowing what to expect as I stood in my socks, feeling lost and exposed.

"Parker." I looked around but didn't see her.

I walked back through the house to the bedroom, then checked the bathroom and still didn't see her. The door to her mother's studio was closed, finding it unlocked I ventured forward like a knight about to find his windmill, there sitting in the dark of the room in a oversized robe she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest. I closed the door and walked slowly to her. She sat with her chin burrowed into her knees, looking lost. I lowered myself to sit on my heels to better look into her eyes, "Please talk to me about it. Whatever it is, let's talk about it."

She never raised her head, but through her robe

covered knees the muffled response came so quietly I wasn't sure I heard her correctly, "I don't know how."

That was so unlike the woman I knew. She never submitted to self-pity, or sounded weak. I kept my eyes on her face, half hidden in her knees, trying

desperately to find my way to her again. I have no idea why I said what I said, perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the communication we always had, even when we didn't know how to communicate with each other we seemed to be able to be reach out on some level--eventually.

I know I tilted my head when I spoke, I know because she always had a look in her eye of amusement when I did. "You don't know how? How to tell me what's going on or you don't know how to explain it to yourself?"

"Both."

I allowed the silence, because I didn't want this to be a question and answer session. I wanted her. I needed her so badly in everyway a man wants a woman, not just sexually, but intellectually, spiritually, emotionally. And frankly I was scared shitless that one misspoken word would bring the barriers up, the defense mechanism would kick in and we would both go back to the word play we had finally left behind.

She finally raised her eyes to me, they were wounded, pain was oozing from them. And I didn't have a clue. The genius that I was supposed to be must have fled the room, an ordinary man with his heart on his sleeve stood in front of the woman he desired all of his life and thought of the wizard of oz movie- except he was the man melting with those tears on her cheeks.

I don't remember saying the words, but I must have,

"How do I help you, how do I make it right? What have I done? I need to understand."

"Why, so it doesn't make you feel less manly? Do you honestly believe that I had so many men, that I felt you just didn't live up to my standards? If I am so evil, leave, don't come back. Don't. Call. Right now I don't know if I ever want to see you or hear your name again." The words spoken in my anger came back to me with her response.

It's this history thing we have going, once there is a misunderstanding, a miscue, a stupid accusation as was the case this time, we fly into a war of words and sometimes very unhealthy actions. The sad thing is we were passed it. We had made such headway, such progress in our communication, in our relationship that I thought nothing could possibly stand in our way again. And I blew it in a moment of passion, well heat, no passion, hell, I don't know.

I knew one thing. I wasn't leaving until I understood what the hell just happened. Until I knew she understood what happened. At this rate, I may be here standing before a half naked wounded woman until wild beasts found our bones. All I know is I'm not giving up.

"Morgana, I need to know what happened. I need to understand, because I can't imagine loving anyone more, needing to be with someone as much as I feel I need you in my life. You froze up on me. Did I hurt you?"

Now she really scared me she sobbed. I can't imagine ever hearing something that was so quiet break me as that soft sound did. She only shook her head no. I know when Thomas died she suffered greatly, but I never heard the sob. I never saw this reaction, even though I'm sure she reacted. Thomas? Thomas. The question and maybe the answer.

"Are you afraid of me?" I held my breath waiting for an answer.

She finally looked up and into my eyes. "Not of you."

Okay, that was an answer, not exact but something to work with perhaps. "You are afraid of something." It was not as declarative as it sounded, I had little to go on, and frankly it was a fishing trip. I tossed out my line looking for more information to try and make sense out of this. I know she has had sex, how much or how little I don't know. She told me she had had no one since Thomas. I believe her. Why would she lie about that? Once we decided to have a relationship we have been very open with each other leading up to this moment.

I watched her face for any response, she looked as though she hadn't thought of it as fear, and was considering the possibility. I don't know if it gave me hope or more fear. "Morgana, we had intimate moments before and you never reacted to me like this. The times we spent being close I thought you enjoyed as much as I did. Are you okay? Is there something wrong? Did I move to fast" Again I fished hoping for a clue.

"I don't know what happened. I wanted you too, to

..." She stopped and watched me waiting, I think for my reaction. I put my hands over hers, when she didn't pull away I gently wiped the tears away.

"Should I call Sydney?"

"Oh, God no. I could not discuss this with him. I

know he would want to help but there are some things, some details I would rather die than have to go to Syd with."

I had to smile, that was my girl. I felt on firmer

footing talking with her now, even though there was

still this major problem with which we had yet to

deal.

"Shit, what if I'm frigid. What if I can't."? She

looked up in horror as though it were like being sent to educate a nation's ruler on speech etiquette when he could barely speak his native tongue.

I couldn't help but smile. "You are not frigid. You

were certainly hot, I was once a sex therapist I think we could figure this out if you wanted.

She slid off the seat and curled up against me. "It wasn't anything you did. I don't want a sex therapist, I want you. Besides, isn't there some kind of rule against getting involved with your patients?"

"Only if they are real therapists." I had to smile, I kissed her head as I held her and asked gently, "What were you feeling before you, before we stopped."

Again, silence. After several minutes had gone by she answered quietly, "Terror, I felt like I was drowning in terror."

"Was it because of what we nearly did, or because it was me."

"Jarod, I think it was both. I can't separate the two."

My heart fell out of my chest at the idea that Mr.

Parker had so succeeded in poisoning her against me. I could feel the tears in my eyes at the thought that the one person in the world I wanted may never be able to be with me. But I couldn't entirely give up. "Why are you terrified of me."

Morgana looked up at me, we were both in tears at this point. "I'm not terrified of you. I'm terrified of not having you. Everyone I have loved. A man I cared deeply for died because of me. A man with so much to live for had his life taken away because of me. We had spent that night.."

She didn't need to continue. I knew she was very discreet about her life with Thomas. I knew of the pictures the Centre had taken of them together that were to show up at the police station as evidence against the "junk man".

I understood now. "The Centre is gone. They can't hurt me. They can't hurt us. We can't allow them to

hurt us." I took a deep breath not knowing how she would accept this, "Morgana, how would you feel about getting a place of our own. This house may hold good memories of your mother, but it holds so many bad memories of your life here. We can pack up all that you need to have, and take it along."

She sat silent within my arms a hand caressing my arm. When she moved out of my arms to look at me, I wasn't sure what her reply would be. I was asking her to give up a lot. She licked her lips before replying, "I think it's time to move on. Just don't stick me on a farm in Armpit Nebraska."

We moved a bit south of Delaware, a bit south of those memories. The cottage was sold to a relative of Broots. Morgana was happy with the thought the house would be in the care of someone she knew.

It took some time, a lot of patience and restraint but I felt a bit of pride that I could put into practice some of the knowledge I had gained in a pretend as a sex therapist. It's good to know that a pretend had its personal fulfillment. I am thrilled to hold and make love to the most challenging, loving, intelligent and beautiful woman of my dreams.

Finis


End file.
